Vengeance or Forgiveness
by smytheairguard
Summary: After a 3 year old witnesses the murder of his mother and sole parent by the hand of a werewolf, he is sold into slavery. He then through fate and courage is able to find both wealth and fame, things which evaded him for so long. But when it appears his saviours are what he swore to destroy, it willl test his fate. Rated T for Violence and language, longer chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_I wanted to make a story with meaning and with more detail then my past stories, so I made this. There may be considerable time between chapters, but they will be long. Anyways here we go. Please review and follow + favourite if you want me to write more often. Thanks!_

**_Chapter 1 Greatness From Small Beginnings_**

Frontar sat at a small wooden table, muching on some half eaten bread. He was a slave for the inn of Old Hrodan. It had a hundred years of history. It was the sight were Tiber Septim slept before his first battle, but that is an entirely different story, one Frontar knew well. He was eating the leftovers of a patron their. That was all he was aloud to eat, leftovers. "Frontar!" Called the voice of his owner, Herdar. He was violent with the boy, who was only eight years old.

"Get out and start chopping wood. Stop eating." He barked at Frontar. He then slapped the boy. "Yes sir." He replied without resistance while he clutched his red cheek. He knew if he resisted it would only lead to punishment. He grabbed an axe from a pile of hay that he had been earlier using to thatch a broken part of the roof and walked outside.

He walked out into the unforgiving land that was the Reach. It was very cold, near freezing with gusts of wind, but that did not matter for Frontar. He was born to a wealthy Nord and a sultry barmaid in Riften. His dad left, as he had no interest in a kid, but his mom raised him. That was, until she was killed. Bynjolf, a member of the Theives Guild then took him and sold him as a slave. He remembered him. He was nice, but Mercer Frey, his boss, was relentless. He repeatedly beat him over and over again, throwing him in water when he slept for over 15 minutes.

He began cutting at the wood outside the inn, water trickling on him. This was his life. He heard some horses hooves in the not so far distance. This probably meant a patron, meaning he would be able to come inside. It was good for him, he hated being wet, reminded him of Mercer. He could deal with cold, he was a Nord.

As he cut a few more pieces, he could hear the hooves more clearly. It was more then one person, many more. They rode up within the end of the minute. They wore fur armor, and had sloppy iron blades. seeking with rust and full of chips. The leader spat on the boy. "Go make us some rooms and some soup now whelp!" He barked. Frontnar once again did not resist, being wise to the punishment that would come.

"Boy, why are you inside." Said Herdar. "Their some men outside who asked me to draw them some food and beds." He casually said. He grabbed some fur pelt blankets as the men walked into the inn. They chewed Juniper and spat it out, on the floor. "Hey boy, you been cleaning? Because you missed a spot." The leader laughed. He had a very stupid laugh. He wore a mohawk and red face paint, in an attempt to intimidate people. Frontar grabbed a spare rag and began to clean the spot, and was promptly kicked in the ribs by one of the gang members. It hurt and he shouted in pain. "Shut up boy." Said Herdar. "Now make their beds."

He picked the furs back up and made the beds, as he had done for nearly a year. He noticed that they were one short. "Sir." He said, interupting Herdar who was giving the men some ale. "What." He barked at the the boy. "We are short one bed." "Well did you count your bed boy?" Said Herdar. He never called Frontar by his name, just boy. "No sir, but..." "But what. Since you take your sweet time thatching the roof, you may as well sleep up there!" He laughed. The bandits then picked Frontar up and shoved him outside, slamming the door afterwards, to the thunderous applause and laughter of the gang.

Not only did Frontar not have a way to get up to the roof, he had no blankets or pillow. It was still raining, at this point thundering, lightning clearly visible in the distance. He looked around for some shelter and saw a small portion of the roof that overlapped the inn. It gave him a bit of shelter from the rain, but not much. He fell asleep quickly, cursing Herdar and the gang while he drifted off.

He dreamt of his childhood. When he was a young boy in Riften. He had dreams about his past that answered questions that he often wondered while awake. This was a gift to him from a Priest of Azura who had stayed in the inn. She gave him an amulet of Mara. He never let Herdar see it, knowing he would sell it, so he kept it buried outside.

This particular dream was in Riften. A man with a mohawk and a red face paint was what he first saw. It was a familiar face. He pushed his mom aside who was tending to some patrons as he walked into the inn, but not before kicking over Frontar's toys. His mom used to let people push her around, but not after having a kid. She slapped the man, hard, right on the paint of his face long bearded face. She wiped her now red hand on her dress. It left a mark. Of a claw. It was a nice dress. She then kicked his groin.

He looked at her, after slowly recoiling from the blow. His face started twitching, eyes growing yellow. His eyes expressed hunger. But for what? He grew black as he grew taller and more muscular, a staggering size. Fur quickly grew from his skin, like that of a wolf. He was a were wolf!

Some of the patrons beagan to run, screaming for the guard. The man ripped at his mom, who tried to rip some of his fur out of the beasts back, but the swipe of the claw killed her near instantly. He then clawed Frontar right on the chest, knocking his infant self to the ground. He started to black out, Maramal tending to him, grabbing some potions. He was a local priest. He looked as the guard, Taral, who acted as Frontar's father in his real one's abscense, was slaughtered by the beast trying to stop the onslaught. He started to black out after that. This signalled the end of his dream.

He awoke a short while later to a deafening howl, louder then the lightning that was hanging around the inn. It haunted him, the howl, eerily familiar. He dared himself to peer inside the window. He stood on the tips of his toes, upon a rock to look in as he wasn't tall. He saw the bandits, transforming into werewolves, and killing Herdar ripping him to shreds as they tore away at him.

As much as he despised him, he did not want to see him die. He ran to the wood chopping block and grabbed the woodcutting axe. He ran inside the inn. He looked at the werewolf on top of Herdar. He wanted to make the blow count. He took aim, putting the axe behind his head, and swung with all his might. He connected with the werewolves face. It howled and turned it's gaze. Herdar was still screaming, his guts hanging out.

Two of the thugs grabbed Frontar. He struggled to escape their grasp, but his effort was in vain. The werewolf rose it's claw and with one swift movement, slashed Frontar's chest right open. He fell to the ground, slowly blacking out. He saw the werewolf slowly transform back into a human. It was the one with the mohawk and red face paint. Then, it hit him. It was the one who had killed his mother!

He began to talk with the others, but Frontar blacked out. He was destined to die. Nobody would come to Hrodan, they rarely did. He began to accept his death. He went into a semi-consciouss state. What an end. A life of misery and slavery ending in violence.

"Wake child." Came a deafening voice, but he still saw only black. "Who is it." Was all he could muster. "I am Azura, Daedric lord of Dusk and Dawn. You shall be alright, you will make it thru this. That is, as long as you pledge serve me." He moaned in his state. "Yes my lord." He said. Then the black overtook him.

"Wake up boy." Came a soothing voice. "Who... are you?" Frontar said as he slowly came to, the blackness slowly going away. He was much more stronger then when he had been clawed by the werewolf, but was still weak. He was up on a very high place. "I am Azura's faithful. I forsaw you in the inn, and Azura sent me. I have since nursed you back to health." She said. "Here." She said, handing him a glass of tea and a bowl of apple-cabbage soup with bread. He nodded and started chowing down. He had been very hungry. He quickly made a dent in the meal. "Eat up. Said the priestess. "You haven't had anything to eat since the attack, you need the nutrients." She said. He laughed. He hadn't eaten since _days _before the attack. Well, other then the leftover bread. He wondered how long he was unconscious for. It was snowing around him, so he was far from Hrodan. At least Haafingar.

He sat at the table finishing the meal. It was good. He usually got frosbite spider meat, very chewy and bitter. He got it once or twice a week. It was terrible but dirt cheap. Just like Herdar, terrible but dirt cheap. He looked around for him. He must have been dead , he wasn't around. He noticed a huge towering statue near him. He continued to eat while the priestess reached a hand to her head, as if she was experiencing a headache. She approached the boy. "Azura. She wishes to commune with you." She said, looking him in the eye. He finished his mouthful of stew and walked towards the alter, wiping his mouth. "Put your hand on the altar."

He places it on the altar, and felt a weird tingle go through his body. "Greetings child. You promised to serve me, so I have saved you. Now, what will you do boy?" Said Azura. "I don't know." He said. "Hmmm. No ambition is it? Fine. I have a task for you." "What is it?" He asked. "You will find the my star. Speak to a mage, based out of Winterhold. Arane will send you in the right direction." "Yes my lady." Said Frontar "And you shall go alone." Said Azura.

"What?" He asked timidly, but she was gone already. "What did she say youngling?" Asked Aranea. "She said I must seek a mage, based out of Winterhold. Alone." He added. "Alone. Are you sure?" She asked. "Yes. Very sure. Azura said so." "Well if that is her will. Here, take these they will help you on your journey."

She reached into a nearby crate and handed him some supplies. It was a pair of robes with a conjuration enchantment, lined with fur for warmth. Their were also some fur boots, hide bracers, and a hood, with a magicka enchantment on it, along with some gloves. There was also a iron dagger, with a heat enchantment for defense. Then their was a small knapsack and a small sack. Inside the knapsack were 7 books, a sleeping bag, a fur pelt and some metal poles to make a makeshift tent. There was a few apples, some spiced meat, a head of cabbage, some water, and a few ingredients inside the sack. Their was also a small coin purse with 20 septims in it.

After peering thru the bag, he looked at her and said "Thanks." "Be careful out there." She said. "It's dangerous out there." "I will." Frontar replied. He lifted the sack upon his shoulder and got on the way to Winterhold. He looked at the map and decided to take a route down the mountain and around the road to Winterhold. A simple route. Winterhodl appeared small, unlike Markarth and Riften, the two major cities he had ever been to.

He decided to pear into the bag to pass the time for his journey. He grabbed the first book. It read on the cover, _A Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim. _He glanced through the first few pages.

_By Agneta Falia_

_Those avoiding this northern province due to claims of barbarism or concerns over climate are doing themselves a disservice; in fact Skyrim has a wealth of materials that every Alchemist would do well to avail himself of. I have traveled extensively throughout this land, and here are but a few of my findings._

_Bleeding Crown_

_The caps of these mushrooms do indeed appear smeared with blood, though it is often hard to see in the dark, demp places in which they grow. Not uncommonly found in Skyrim, their abundance is countered by the difficulty in acquiring them. As any experienced herbalist knows, the darkest of caves often conceal far more than mere mushrooms._

_Nonetheless, these potent fungi, when combined with certain powdered antlers, produce a mixture rendering one quite susceptible to poison. Their usefulness is also quite apparent when mixed with Lavender, creating a substance highly resistant to magic._

While Skyrim may not be full of mages, it could prove useful to make money by making potions. Most general goods stores would buy them. He continued to read as he steadily walked the snow covered trail, memorizing the usefulness of all the ingredients, and collecting any ingredients along the way, putting them onto an apocrethy satchel, an attachment to his robes. After about an hour or so of walking, he saw a guard.

He thought to himself '_Is this Winterhold?'_ The spot was _tiny. _He would find out soon enough.

As he approached the site he realized it was just a mine. "Is this Winterhold?" He asked to the lone guard outside the mine, wondering if it was Winterhold. He was very confused. "Ha. No. It's Whisling mine my boy. And what's a boy like you doing off all alone anyways?" Asked the Guard. "Im on a quest." He said proudly. "I seek a mage." "It's nightfall." Said the Guard. "Go talk to Thorgar, he's the owner of the mine." "OK." Was all Frontar said in reply. He was disappointed the gaurd didn't take more of an interest in his adventure.

He walked into the mine and looked around for Thorgar. He coughed at the hazy air as he entered. Thorgar leaned against a barrel, picking his fingernails with a match. He looked up at Frontar. "Can I help you." he asked bitterly. "I was looking for a place to sleep for the night." Thorgar sighed.

He raised his gaze to look at Frontar."Ain't nobody get's a free ride in Winterhold." He said, returning his gaze to his fingernails. "I thought this was Whisling Mine?" He said. "Ugh." Sighed Thorgar.

"What are you stupid, this is Winterhold _hold_. Are you even a Nord? Nevermind. Anyways what I'm saying is you mine ore, or go elsewere. I don't care where but not here." "Ok." Was all Frontar said in response, grabbing a pickaxe from the wall. He walked down into the depths of the mind. It was unlike any mine he had ever seen. He had worked in some as a slave, but this one was oddly unique. It was ice on the walls, but had stones peering through the glaciers. It was a weird sight.

He took post next to a fellow miner. He took a few chips at the iron vein while the miner next to Frontar looked at the boy. "What's a little squirt doing mining?" He asked. "Working my ways to a place to sleep." Replied Frontar. "Well your mining on my ore." He said rather bitterly. "Oh. Sorry." He said as he backed up. He ran into another miner, who promptly shoved him to the ground. "Watch out kid." He said. "Hey, leave him alone." said the other miner.

"Oh shut up Gunding." Said the miner. "I'm tired of Winterhold. I'm tired of this mine and you. Now come here!" he said to Frontar "You're gonna pay for that. He swung the pickaxe at him. It was going to hit him in the head, but he swiftly rolled out of the way. Frontar reached for his own axe, but the aggresive miner stomped on his hand.

Frontar quickly pulled back his head, clutching his bruised hand. He drew his dagger out it's holster. "What are you gonna do with that thing, give me an owie?" Said the aggressive miner imitating a youngling. The miner swung but Frontar ducked out of danger. He then recoiled and hit Frontar right on the shoulder with a blow. He clutched the bloody wound as the miner turned around and did a victory celebration. Frontar clutched his dagger and charged him, using the element of suprise. That's what Herdar said when he hit a patron at the inn with a pan and took all his gold before throwing his body off the cliff

Frontar hit him in the back of his torso. A shot of cold ran through the miner's body, a blue glow radiating from him. "Aghh." Was all the miner said as he crumpled to the ground. The other miner stepped back. Thorgar walked in to the room. "What was all that racket?" He said. "Oh my god. He's dead. Who did this?" Said Thorgar, obviously shocked. "It, it was the boy!" Said Gunding. "Get him!" Said Thorgar. Gunding rushed him, with another miner who had come into the room. Frontar raised his dagger. The two miners yielded. He grabbed the dead man's body, reaching into the pocket. He took out some goods. A couple of septims and a bottle of ale, as well as a ring.

Frontar looked around for a exit. He peered around the small mine. He spotted an oppurtunity. There was a small vein that looked untouched. He ran to them guarding them with his dagger raised. "Listen up and listen good." He said waiverly. They seemed to be money tight. He took some of the honey he had among his ingredients. He rubbed it on an vein of metal, not letting them see it. He looked up at the others. "Hey look." he said. " A gold ore vein!"

"Don't touch it you little shit!" Yelled Thorgar. "Let me go, and you can have it." He said. "Ugh. Fine, okay, okay. Whatever you say. Just don't touch the vein!" Said Thorgar. Frontar cautiously walked out of the mine, swiping an ingot he could sell. He back-pedaled, then sprinted out of the mine as soon as he had a considerable gap

As he ran out, into the cold barren tundra that was Winterhold, the guard looked at him, grabbing him by his collar. "Leave me alone!" Frontar said. Frontar stopped strugling and the guard released his grip. Frontar began a story. "They, they started fighting over an ingot, and then they, killed somebody!" He said in a fake scared tone of a boy. "What!?" Exclaimed the guard. "You have to stop them, their coming after me!" Said Frontar.

"Let's go." Said the guard, unsheathing his blade. "Hey you help, the boy, he killed the man." Said Thorgor as they entered the cave, the other miner nodding in agreement. "Is that true boy?" Asked the guard, clutching his sword, his expression unreadable through his iron mask. "Look he has a dagger." Said the miner who's name Frodnar did not know. "I had to take it off his dead body, they were gonna kill me." Said Frodnar. "They were fighting over this gold ore vein." He added. "Why you little." Growled Thorgor as he charged him the guard warned him to halt, but sliced his head off when he didn't stop.

The other miner ran to the vein and began picking away. "I'm rich." Was all they said as they picked away. "I can finally get out of this hell hole"Halt. You are under arrest for attempted murder." Said the guard. "What, you can't do this!" Exclaimed the miner. "I didn't do anything. "Shut up." Said the guard. He dragged him away. "Boy, you inherit the mine now. Take whatever you want." Said the guard. "Thank you." Was all Frontar said as he leaned against a barrel.

The guard continued to take the miner away, despite his many pleas to let him go. Frontar decided he would need to stay here for the night, it was too late to venture on. He would need to sleep here and cook dinner then venture to Winterhold the next day. He grabbed the pelt from his bag and then took one of the sleeping rolls from the mine. He went to the cooking pot and put in some ice and the cabbage to make a stew. It wasn't by any means extravagent for most, but if sufficed just well for Frontar. He took out one of the books from the knapsack. It was titled _The Doors of Oblivion. _It was about conjuration. He read it while munching an apple

Frontar took a quick glimpse in it, but couldn't do it. He was to tired. He put his head down on a small pillow he found in a drawer near the entrance to the mine. He shut his eyes and sleep soon found him. Then, a howl broke the calm silence of the mine.


	2. Chapter 2 A New Beginning

_Hey guys. To the one follower and any new readers, I want to take time with the chapters. Slowly right and look over them. Anyways enjoy and leave feedback, and follow if you like it. Thanks._

Frontar snapped upwards from his sleep. The howl echoed in the rather small sized mine. It was a familiar howl. He reached for his dagger from it's holster, sweating profusely. It wasn't there! He gazed around for a weapon, anything to use. He took a pickaxe out from the dresser near his bedroll. He peered around the mine thinking up a plan. While the pickaxe was better then nothing, the dagger would be better for fighting.

He ran to his knapsack to search for it. As he had just opened it, the howl came again, this time louder. Closer. He looked up from the sack, pickaxe raised. A shadow came from one of the corners of the mine. "Who's there!" He said weerily. Then, a figure came out from one of the corners. It was another werewolf. He grabbed the pickaxe and held it in a raised position. The werewolf charged.

He ducked out of the way of one of the beast's swings, but it quickly swung again. This time Frontar blocked it with his pickaxe. He did a backwards roll away from the wolf, clutching his knapsack and searching for the blade. Frontar backed up right to the shelf, and the beast took aim to charge. This time, Frontar side-stepped the monster. The werewolf went head on into the shelf, clutching it's neck afterwards. Frodnar got an idea. He could make the beast ram into things, until it was to injured to continue.

Frontar looked around for things that could prove as of use for his plan. He couldn't find a particular one place for it to charge into, so he chose a section of the ice where the rocks poked through. Frontar stood at a crouched position, waiting for the beast to charge. It to stood ready, pacing side to side, a few steps to each side. As Frontar had planned, the beast charged, and hit it's head. Frontar ran, but the beast rammed him right over in the process. He hit the ground hard, but he got right back up.

Frontar kept running, trying to evade the beast but was knocked over again, this time by the beast's claw. He hit something metal, and hard. With a thud he fell to the ground. It was a smelter for the ore. The beast came back. Frontar ducked and tried to crawl away. The smelter landed on the beast as it collided with it, spilling hot ore all over the werewolf. The beast let out a scream, as did Frontar. The ore had spilt onto his shin, burning him, but he had more important things on his mind. Frontar took his dagger out of his pack and stabbed the beast multiple times in it's back. It let out repeated whines over and over again, very low, before finally slumping over in death. The blood curled with the hot melted metal, in a toxic vile looking liquid.

Frontar clutched his calf, trying to think of something he could do to ease the pain of his mighty burn. He crawled over to the shelf and peered through it's multiple drawers. He found some paper, and toar it up into thin strips. He then took some Jazbay grapes and mashed them up into a fine juice that was very sticky. He used it to attach the sheets of paper to his wound. He then took out the dagger from his holster and cut some fur from the werewolf's skin. He started to tie it tightly to his skin to help it heal. He took some more of the werewolf's pelt, good gold once he reached Winterhold.

He took some ore from the mine and dumped it in his knapsack to make some more gold once he reached the city. While it may not make as much had it been in an ingot form, his smelter was done for. While he may have slept for barely an hour, he was wide awake after the battle. He slung his knapsack over his shoulder, and put some weight on his wounded leg. It was fine, not to much pain. He walked out of the mine and turned left, towards Winterhold. He walked through the extremely cold land that was Winterhold Hold.

After a few hours of walking, he was in Winterhold. Whoever had made it so small on the map, was right. It was _tiny. _There were 5 buildings and then a huge stone structure. The huge stone structure stood out. It had a walkway that led it all the way to the main structure, which had three round towers surrounding a round courtyard. It stood among a 100 foot cliff, and had no business being there.

Frontar couldn't help but walk towards the structure, never taking his gaze off. The pain ran away from his leg. He was intrigued, to say the least. As he walked upon the stone walkway, up towards the building. "Halt." Came a voice. This one was unlike the guards, who had a deep voice and spoke in short phrases.

"The way is dangerous and the door shall not open. You shall not gain entry." Frontar looked up the snowy walkway to see a tall High Elf, looking down at him with disdain. "What is this place." He asked, obviously intrigued. "Oh. Sorry. Most who come here already know what this place is." She said. "My name is Faralda, and this is the college of Winterhold." "Can I come in?" Frontar asked. Faralda crossed her legs and brought her hand to her chin. "Perhaps." She said.

"But first, tell me what you seek to find inside." Frontar stopped and wondered for a second. He came up with an answer, and spoke with pride. "I seek knowledge, in any form it may come it." Faralda nodded and looked at him with a surprised face. He was obviously a kid. "Well, it seems the college may have what you seek. But not all can come in you see." "Well what does it take to get in then?" Frontar asked.

"You must show you are of value to the college. You must cast a spell. Now do you know the spell fireball by any chance?" "I don't know any spells." Said Frontar. "Well then." Faralda said timidly. "I guess I could sell it to you. 30 gold." She said. "I don't have 30 gold." "Well it seems you can't come in then." She said. Frontar sighed and put his head down. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked down towards the main city. Faralda crossed her arms as she looked at him. She whispered peasant under her breath, as Frontar walked away. He could easily make the money. It was just past dawn, and the storekeeper was opening up the lone shop in Winterhold. He walked in right behind her.

She didn't notice him as he did it. "Can I sell a few thing here?" He asked. "Oh. I didn't see you. Uh, yes sure." She said. She was a tall mid twenties aged Nord, with many wrinkles under her tired eyes. "I have these." He said as he handed her the ingots. "These." He said handing her the werewolf pelt. "And these." He said as he handed her some leftover leather strips from when he bandaged himself up.

She looked downwards toward Frontar as he handed her the goods. "Wow, it looks like that hurt, how did you get that?" She said referring to the wound. "I spilt hot ore on it." He said proudly. "Here take these she said." Handing him a proper bandage and a potion. He tore off the makeshift bandage. He let out a wine with the peeling of the bandage. "Ahh." He said. "Put the bandage on, and rub some of the potion on it, and drink the excess. It will help it heal quicker.|

"Thanks." he said. "I don't quite have the gold for all this, but I could give you what I can, and you can stay in my house with me and my brother, if that's alright." Said the Vendor. "I would be delighted." Frontar said, a smile on his face. "Wonderful." "I'll be back in a bit, I want to go talk to somebody." He opened the door and was hit with a gust of air. It hadn't been windy or snowing out, but now it was like a monsoon. Just like the reach. Crazy weather. Not that it mattered to him, he was a Nord. Used to the cold.

He trudged his way to what looked like the Jarl's longhouse. He walked in and spotted the Jarl instantly. It was tiny hall, not suit for a Jarl. "Hello boy." The Jarl said rather cheerfully. "What brings you to Winterhold, I haven't seen you around here before." "I have business." Frontar said casually. "Ahh. Well, can I help you?" "Yes actually." Said Frontar.

"Really. How may I be of assistance?" "Was a miner recently imprisoned?" "Yes." Said the Jarl. "He was very convinced he didn't do it, but Winterhold's finest said otherwise." Said the Jarl. "Well, I would like to pay his bounty." Said Frontar. "Really." Said the Jarl. "I'm sure." "Well I do not intend to offend but, what will you use to pay for this?" The Jarl asked. "This." Said Frontar. He handed the Jarl the deed to the mine he had taken. "Ok. This checks out." Said the Jarl, looking over the deed multiple times, checking it's authenticity.

"How did you acquire this. Was it inheritance?" Said the Jarl. "I had to fight for it." Said Frontar, very casual. "Well then." The Jarl said impressed by the boy's effort. "Could you do a quest for me? If you want of course." "What is it?" Asked Frontar. "The local shopkeeper was in the inn the other day. She doesn't usually let stress get to her, she has a lot of weight to carry you see. Anyways, a guard told me, she was talking about how some scammers sold her this claw, claiming it was linked to some treasure. One of my sources, a mage in the inn, said He believes it could be linked to the Helm of Winterhold. You said you fought for that deed, so you must be capable." "Go on." Said Frontar. "Now usually I would send one of my men, or an able citizen, but, I have none. I don't want to send a kid, but if you can, I could reward you. I could give you a fief, gold and thaneship in my hold. That is if you accept my offer." Said the Jarl, hand on his chin. "Sure." Said Frontar. In his youth, he was naive to the danger that may lie ahead.

"Wonderful. I can get you some armor if you want." Said the Jarl. "That would be wonderful." Said Frontar. "Come by tommorow and I will see you are properly equiped. Do you have a place to spend the night?" "Yes I do." Said Frontar. "Ok. See you tommorow." "Goodbye boy."

Frontar walked back out into the blizzard and over to the inn. He had heard the Jarl mention his source who had heard the vendor's story, and it could be the man he wanted to find. He pushed open the door. "Welcome." Said the innkeeper. "We got strong..." He paused when he saw he was a kid. "We have food for the hungry." "Is their a mage staying here?" "Yes actually. Nelacar!" Said the innkeeper. "Did somebody call me?" Said the Nelacar. He was a high elf, and wore robes and a hood with fur boots. He had a innocent looking face, as if he was hiding something.

"This boy wants to see you." Said the innkeeper. "This... boy." Nelacar said, suprised by his age. "Yes." "Ok. Come in here kid." Frontar walked with him into a rather large room of the inn. There were many bookshelves, lined with books and research materials. "What business could you possibly have with me?" Nelacar asked. He didn't say it rudely, he was just puzzled. Frontar instantly knew it was who he was seeking. Azura had gave him the knowledge.

"Azura has sent me. I seek her star." "Those who are naive to danger, should not be in it's way in the first place." Nelacar said. "What?" Asked Frontar. "Sorry. What I mean is you shouldn't go after the star, as you know nothing of it's power." "Azura saved my life." Frontar said, looking Nelacar in the eye. "I shall do her bidding. Now tell me, where is this star." Nelacar sighed.

"If you insist. Last thing I knew Malyn Veran had it. He was growing old and wanted to achieve immortality. Last thing I heard he was hiding out in Ilinata's deep, in Falkreath, near the mountain and the lake." "Thank you for the information." Said Frontar. "But I warn you. Malyn went mad searching for this. I hinder you not to proceed on this quest." "It is the least I can do for somebody who had saved my life." Said Frontar. "Fine begone. But don't say I didn't warn you. All daedra are evil, no mather what they say."

Frontar walked out of the inn. He walked out into the blizzard, which hadn't and showed no sign of letting up. He looked around for the house he was supposed to go to. Their was one right next to the vendor, so he figured that must be it. He walked up and turned the nob, shouldering his way in of the partly frozen door. A man sat at a table clutching a bottle of mead. "Get out of here you gity bandit." He said. "Call the guard Birna." "Don't worry Ranmir, I invited him." Said Birna.

Birna walked over to Frontar. "Don't worry uhhh..." "Frontar." "Frontar. It's my brother Ranmir, he's a drunk." She said rather casually. "It's okay." Said Frontar. "Here, I've got dinner already." "Thank you." Said Frontar. It was leek soup with a bit of Horker loaf." It had no spices. Still good for Frontar. He ate up.

"The Jarl mentioned a certain thing you bought, linked to the Helm of Winterhold. Is that right?" Frontar asked as they sat at a small rounded table.. "Yes actually. If you want it you can have it. It's the least I can do since you let me have all those goods without paying you." "Sounds good." He said. Birna got up from her seat and walked over to a small chest on the other side of the room. The house wasn't very large, and neither was the room. She searched around in some odd trinkets, and finally pulled something out.

"Ahh, here it is." She said while clutching what looked like a claw, of a dragon. It looked like it was made of a red metal. Something rusty. "Shouldn't have believed the legend. Anyways, it's supposed to be linked to something in Yngol's barrow, over in Eastmarch." "Cool." Frontar said. "Here take it. I have no time to leave the store, with Ranmir drinking away all the money I earn." "I'm sorry to hear that." Was all Frontar said.

"Are you tired?" Asked Birna. "I'll make your bed." "Thank you." Said Frontar. "She grabbed some hay and a few pelts. They were small wolf pelts. Very small. Winterhold was so scarce of resources that even the wildlife began to dwindle. Such was the time after the great collapse. All of Winterhold's glory disappeared overnight. And not figuratively, but literally. Even the house was small and in need of repair.

As soon as he put his down, sleep found him. Another dream came to him. He wouldn't call it a dream, more of a nightmare. Back in time again. Still in Riften. He looked around in the dream. He saw the familiar banners and slouched posture of thieves again. The Ragged Flagon. He looked to his right suddenly. It was Mercer Frey. He stood tall, looking down at the 3 year old Frontar. He rose his leg and kicked him into the water in the grimy bar. He arose from the water a brief moment later, coughing up some algae ridden water. He puked up what he didn't cough out. "Get to work boy." Was all Mercer said.

As he climbed out of the water he peered around the bar. The only forgiving eyes came from a young looking dark elf. His head snapped awake as he peered around the room. Sweat poured down his forehead to his brow. He took a look out the window into Winterhold. It was still before dawn. He looked around the small house. He picked up a roll of paper and some charcoal from the nearby table. He wrote a note to Birna. Sweat poured down to his brow.

_Dear Birna. _

_Thank you for the house and meal. I woke up early, so I'm heading off. Don't worry about me. Frontar._

He set the note down on the same table he got the charcoal and paper. He picked up his sack and looked down at his leg wound while he walked out of the house. The blizzard has stopped but it was still overcast with a bit of snowfall. He looked around towards the college. He had the money to but the spell tome now. He walked over and looked at the person on the walkway.

This time it was a High Elf, but a different one then before. She looked, meaner. "Be gone kid." She said as soon as he approached. "But, the other said I could buy the spell..." "Be gone kid." She repeated. Frontar walked away. He didn't care. He would get his vengeance soon enough. He walked outwards from the main road. He looked around the road. He decided to go up to the Jarl again, get his equipment. A man leaned against the wall.

He wore steel armor and looked right at Frontar. He had a blue coloured face paint running from his brow to his chin. He looked down at Frontar. "You Frontar." He said with a surprised look on his face. The man had a heavy nord accent. "Yes." Frontar replied. The Jarl looked back at him from his throne. He turned his gaze to the knight who wore a face that said '_really'. _"Yes. He's Frontar." Said the Jarl.

"Come with me." He said. Motioning to Frontar to follow. He walked into a room perpendicular to the main hall of the longhouse. Their sat some polished steel plated chest-piece, gauntlets and some boots. Their was a helmet, with two horns at the top pointing upwards. "Steel plated armor, gauntlets and boots with a scaled helmet. Go ahead, try her on." The knight said. Frontar put it on over his robes. It seemed to fit perfectly. "It fits perfectly." Frontar said.

"It should." Said the knight, "Steel plates attached to hide strips so it will fit to your body. Should handle the wear and tear and can be fixed by any blacksmith. And now for the weapons." He said. There was a stand for weapons and a shield rack. "Here. Banded iron shield, very strong and light, with a steel sword, sharpened finely." Said the knight.

Frontar awed at the craftmanship of the sword, peering into his reflection on the blade. "Come." Said the knight. "The Jarl wants to talk to you." The Jarl sat upon his throne, a servant by his side. Frontar approached, putting his blade in a sheathe that came with the armor. "Hot breakfast." Said the Jarl, pointing to a bowl of oatmeal. Frontar grabbed a bowl and began eating.

"This is a very dangerous task." Said the Jarl. "That's why I'm sending Thackor with you. He is my best man." Frontar and Thackor nodded to each other while the Jarl continued. "Be careful. Burial tombs are unpredictable. Filled with draugr and Mara knows what else." He sighed. "You will have two horses outside. I already marked it on Thackor's map. You can make it before evening" "We'll be off." Said Thackor. "Good luck." Said the Jarl.

As they walked out of the longhouse they felt the instant chill of the cold wind. They jumped up onto the steeds. Frontar's had a step attached to the saddle of the steed, so he could climb up. The Jarl was smart, he though of everything. Thackor motioned down the road. Frontar kicked his boots in and the stead went off. The wind bit against his ears, nipping like torchbugs in Last Seed.

It was around the route Frontar had previously taken, but past the road he had gone down. Frontar road hard against the wind, and they soon arrived an Yngol's barrow, Windhelm visible in the long distance. They got off the horses and Thackor promptly tied the horses to a stone pillar. Thackor drew his greatsword, clutching the hide grips. "Get ready for a fight." Was all he said. Frontar raised his shield and unsheathed his sword, gleaming in it's freshness. They walked in to the cold barrow, noticably absent was the chill of the outside.

Suddenly a whine came throught the chill, and many light balls floating in mid air, came to them. "What in Aethirius..." Said Thackor, raising his sword. "What are these?" Asked Frontar. "I, I don't know." Said Thackor. "Just keep an eye on them." "Okay."

The barrow had ice walls and stone walkways. Thackor looked side to side. "Be on your guard." Said Thackor. They heard a sigh come from around the corner. "What was that." Whispered Frontar. "Duck down, stay in cover." Said Thackor. Frontar obliged and hid under a table. A skeleton came into the room. It was dark, and had menacing eyes, and rotten teeth and bones.

Thackor lashed out, connecting with it's neck, cutting it clean off. Frontar sighed in relief, and came out from under the table. He felt a weight suddenly fall on his back. "Watch out." Said Thackor, as the beast was on Frontar's back, another draugr. Thackor slashed it in it's ribcage, and Frontar sprung out. He grabbed his sword and slashed the beast in it's neck, but the draugr swung it's axe into Frontar's armor, knocking him down.

As it raised it's hands to swing the axe, and end Frontar's life, but Thackor swung with his greatsword, decapitating the beast once again. "Thanks." Frontar said, panting heavily, a bit shaken. "No problem." Said Thackor. "Let's keep going." He said.

They moved further down into the cave, very cautiously. The duo only found one more draugr, but Frontar slashed it's knee, and Thackor stabbed into it's rotten rib cage. Much of the barrow was in disaray, falling apart. Strangely, as they walked on, more of the lights came out and followed them. Frontar remembered reading a book about Yngol, he was Ysgramor's son. Killed by the sea ghosts. Ysgramor, in rage, had killed them. Were these lights what was left of them?

They finally came to a halt in a weird room, with some turning pillars and a dead body. "Oh my god." Said Thackor, rushing toward the body. "He's been dead for a while." He said. Frontar wasn't listening. He had picked up his book. All of the pillars at the side had been changed to certain positions, and a door was open at the end of the hall. Frontar peered into the book.

___Man in his throne, so should he be._ Frontar looked. Their was another skeleton in the throne. He shuddered as he looked back in.

___Whale in the Sea, so should he be__. _Frontar looked. A fish was showing on a pillar, covered by a waterfall. He looked back.

_Eagle in Sun's Sky, so should he be_. Frontar looked. An eagle was on a pillar, with light shining on it.

___Snake in the weed, so should he be_. Frontar looked. A pillar with a snake sat their, weeds growing around it.

"Look." Said Frontar. Thackor came over. "They all match up." "Weird." Said Thackor. "My experience tells me it opened that door. There's nothing in there, so let's keep going." He said. As they turned, more lights came towards them. They both jumped for a moment, but regained their composure quickly.

It was not long before they finally came to a long hall, with etched ancient carving on the rock walls. "The hall of stories." Muttered Thackor. "What does that mean?" Asked Frontar. "I've forgotten you haven't had much adventuring experience." Said Thackor.

"These walls tell a story, usually of the undead draugr when they were living." Said Thackor. "Those were people once?" Asked Frontar. "Oh yes. As I was saying, at the end of the hall, there will be a large door, for the claw." "The coral one?" "Yes." Said Thackor. "Give it here. I'll open the door."

Frontar handed Thackor the claw from his backpack, and Thackor looked it over. "These symbols, they give the pattern for the door." Thackor spun some carvings on the long door, and then stuck the claw in. The door creaked, and then started opening, revealing a large room. "Let's go." Said Thackor, turning to Frontar. "Watch out!" Frontar cried.

But it was too late. A draugr launched a strong attack at Thackor. It connected right in his shoulder, and he fell to the ground. Frontar grabbed his shield and bashed the beast's knee, and swung with his axe. The draugr merely turned and shot frost magic at Frontar. Frontar took a blast to the face, and it knocked him back. Thackor arose and swiped at it's knees, but it merely took the blow, and swung into Thackor's collarbone. "Ah!" He yelled out.

Frontar leapt forward, strength coming from nowhere, jumping onto the draugr, momentarily stunning it. He swung his axe into it's neck repeatedly, bashing the head with the shield, while the draugr tried to pull him off. It didn't work, as Frontar kept on slashing. He kept digging in to the draug's neck, before it's head finally stretched back, and it's eyes dimmed once again. It finally met peace.

"Thackor." Frontar whispered under his breath. He turned to see Thackor clutching his wound. "Good job kid. I'd clap but, you know." He said, refering to his wound. "Let's go get whatever there is up ahead." He continued. "That looks like it hurt." Grimaced Frontar. "Put some of the healing potion on it, and have a bit of the disease elixir. Never know what diseases the undead may have." Said Frontar. "Good thinking." Said Thackor.

He reached for his belt and took the potion from it's hinge. He rubbed all of it on, then took two swigs of the elixir. "Okay, I'm fine now. Let's go on ahead." "Okay." Frontar said. Thackor picked up his greatsword, and went forward.

They reached a nearby throne, with something slumped over on it, a skeleton. "That's the helm." Said Thackor. He grabbed it, and put it on his unprotected head. "Let's continue." "What in the divines is that!" Yelled Frontar. A dark misty shade came, with a weapon. "Fear... Yngol." It said. "What in oblivion." Muttered Thackor, before the shade clipped his shoulder, near the wound. "Ouch." He yelled before drawing his sword, barely deflecting another blow. Frontar slashed at it, and it reacted just like a regular warrior. Thackor was engaged it quick combat with it, rapidly deflecting the blows. Frontar also swung, but was merely deflected. Finally, Thackor ran back. "Run!" He yelled to Frontar. Frontar obliged, without questioning why, and ran to Thackor.

"Get in cover." He said, hiding behing a collapsed pillar. "Why did we run?" Asked Frontar. "Just shut up if you want to live." Frontar obliged and listened on. He heard blood curdling shrieks, and sound of lightning, with moans of pain mixed in. Finally a final moan, that slowly faded into an echo throughout the whole barrow. Thackor drew a bow, and moved forward. Frontar followed, holding his shield, as he had no ranged weapon. A large, unanatural beast stood in front of them, it's back halfway turned.

It floated in the air, and had a wierd blue magic floating under and around it. It held a staff, and had a menacing, unforgiving face. Thackor drew an arrow from his quiver, and snapped it onto the bow string. He reached back, and swiftly released, and let it fly. It did nothing. It bounced off the beast, and it turned. It shot lightning at Thackor, blowing him backwards.

Suddenly, it turned to Frontar who screamed, as he layed ready for death. He would be damned to oblivion, failiing his task from Azura. But it never hit. The wierd lights that had followed them the whole time, they blocked the blows, and moved right throught the wierd monster, with unforgiving power, delivering staggering blows. The monster shrieked, but it was in vain. The lights blocked all the monster's frantic attempts at attacks.

The weird lights finally killed the beast, and returned to Frontar. A sudden weird light seemed to appear out of thin air, infront of Frontar. A magical light filled the room as a large burly figure came through the mysterious portal. "Greetings."


	3. Chapter 3 Rich and Ripe

_Author's Note. The year in this is 4E, 174. This is important for the story line. Also I try to make these chapters longer. About 5000 words or more. Do you like them this size? Review if you do and anything else you would like to see Frontar do. I'm open for some suggestions._

_Also, I haven't uploaded for a while because school was hard, and I took a christmas break to relax. Anyways thanks for reading._

**Chapter 3 Rich and Ripe.**

Frontar gawked at the large figure suddenly appearing infront of him. "Allow me to introduce myself." Said the tall imposing figure. "I am Yngol, son of Ysgramor." Frontar remained silent. "Your friend is weak, but he will live. But first, I must thank you."

"For what?" Asked Frontar.

"For saving me." Yngol said grimly. "Those ghosts, they killed me, after I was seperated from my father and the rest of the men, during a storm. He found me, dead. In a rage, he killed the sea ghosts, and those lights are all that is left of him. Cursed to their current form."

"Your welcome." Said Frontar.

"Thank you." Said Yngol one more time, before slowly disappearing.

_Thackor!_ Thought Frontar after he regained his composure. He ran over to the wounded man, and felt his pulse. Barely there. He took out the healing potion quickly, and rubbed it all over his neck and face wound. He used the whole bottle, and took another one out. He put it all in Thackor's mouth. Thackor gagged, but did not come conscious. Frontar tried to pick up his body, but couldn't. He wasn't strong enough.

As he slouched over in defeat, something magical happened. He watched in awe as the ghosts made a magical barrier around Thackor, and lifted him up above the ground. They slowly lifted Thackor, throughout the barrow. Frontar grabbed the Helm of Winterhold before he forgot, and a strange helmet he had found on Yngol's skeleton. Frontar noticed a large chest. He opened it and began searching. About 150 gold, an enchanted bow, and some arrows. The body of Thackor kept moving out, before they finally made it out. A few of the ghosts came away from Thackor's body, and made a purple hole in the air, it seemed to defy the light around it.

_Go in._ Whispered a voice from nowhere. Frontar obliged and stepped into the portal. A wierd humming noise, like when he had first entered the barrow came. Mysterious lights and mists came with it. Suddenly, he was in Winterhold, with the horses. And Thackor. He kneeled beside him, and gave him a sip of the healing potion, and ran into town. "Help!" He yelled. "What?" Asked the guard. "Thackor, he's hurt, please help. "Oh god. Ifhard, come here!" Yelled the guard, running toward Thackor.

The two guard lifted the wounded man, and carried him to the Jarl's longhouse. "Thackor." Muttered the Jarl running over as they enteredthe longhouse. They put him down on a table, and put potions on him. "Boy." Said the Jarl. "No time to vask in your success. You must get a healer, from the college." "Okay." Said Frontar, instantly obliging.

He ran out, his armor seeming weightless, as he ran with all the energy he had left to the College. This time somebody else was there. He was old, a Nord, with braided hair. "Hello boy." He said in a calm weathered voice. "How may I help." He seemed to be aware of the urgency.

"A man. He is greatly injured- we need a healer know." Frontar said franticaly. "Dear gods." Said the man. "Follow me." He said. They ran to the college, up the runway. "Collete!" Yelled the man. As Frontar was running, he slipped, and fell of the edge. "Ahh." He yelled.

The man drew two spells from his hands. With great concentration, he cast a mysterious blue cloak on him, and with the other, a force spell. He used his other hand on it, and grabbed Frontar. He pulled him up to the walkway. "Be careful. It's treacherous." Said the man. "Thanks." Frontar said weerily. They kept running into the main building. With a wave of his hands, the door to the courtyard opened.

Frontar vasked at the great building. Their was a large statue, and a well full of magicka radiating in front of it. "Collete!" He yelled. "Yes." Came a whiny raspy tone. "A man. He needs your help. He is gravely injured!" Said the man. "Okay, hold on a minute. She fetched a couple of potions and came to the elder and Frontar, handing them some each. "Let's go." She said. They ran to the longhouse, as quickly as they could.

"Watch out!" She yelled. She rubbed the first potion over the wound. She took two other potions and poured half of one, and a whole of another dow Thackor's throat. She then told everybody to get back. She raised her hands, a white aura raising in them. With a squint of her face, she put her hands forward, putting an aurora over his body.

"What's that?" Frontar asked to the old man. "Healing spell. She's using magicka to heal him. I could teach it to you." He said. "Sure." Said Frontar. "Here read this." He said, handing Frontar a book. He peered thru it, reading each page, a strange energy going thru his body. As he finished reading, the book turned into pure energy, and went into Frontar.

"What was that?" Asked Frontar. "You know the spell know. Ask for the magicka, and it will come to you." Frontar just nodded. Somebody tapped Frontar on the shoulder. It was the Jarl. "Come." He said. "I must grant you your title." Frontar nodded and followed.

The Jarl went to his throne. A nord woman beside him. "I, Jarl Korir, grant you, Frontar, the title of Thane of Winterhold. I assign you a housecarl, Thackor, a fief, Winterhold holdout, and grant you my prized possession, the Blade of Winterhold, my last one." A guard stepped forward, and handed him a blade upon a red pillow. It was marvelous. Black, with red, like magical blood on it. It was a greatsword. The same guard handed him a key to his new fief.

It is right to the right of the inn. "Thank you." Frontar said. "I have had your house fully decorated." Said Korir. "It had food and mannequins, as well as a weapon rack, a bed, an alchemy table and an enchanting table. Fell free to use what you may. You can go to your home, we will send a guard if anything new happens with Thackor." Frontar nodded and walked off.

He walked out into the snowy but subtle weather outside in Winterhold. He walked over to his house. Simple, with a hay thatched roof, and a wooden floor and walls. Frontar walked over to the weapon rack. He plopped on his regular blade and shield. He put his dagger on the small rack. He added on the pickaxe to it. He walked over to the alchemy lab, and pulled out his apothecary satchel, and put them on the table. He started to put some potions together, and remembered the book he had red earlier. He put together some potions he could keep for use or sell.

He looked at his greatsword again. It had a red aura to it. He had never seen anything like it. He took out some of the books he had. 'Weapons of Skyrim' Read one of the titles. He wondered if he could find the same sword he had been gifted. He read the whole thing end to end, and found nothing. He peered outside and wondered what time it must be. At least 12. He slept without having dinner. He wasn't hungry. He layed down in the nice pelt covered bed. Sleep found him quickly, as he had a long day.

This night he had no nightmare, just slept. Frontar awoke at around 9. He stretched out his arms and yawned. Frontar walked over to his cabinet as he took in the architecture of his house. Their was the main entrance, with bookshelves to either side, and two staircases right infront. Around the back of the staircases was the kitchen and dining room. Up the stairs and you found yourself in a study, full of bookshelves, a fire place, cooking spit and chairs. Next their was a enchanting and alchemy lab through the back of the study. To one side of the study was the bedroom, and the other side his armory.

Frontar grabbed his pot, and walked over to the fireplace, setting it on with a few tea leaves. He put some water and a tad of fire salts, with some leek and tomato he found in a cabinet for some soup. As Frontar sat down at his large leather chair, he took a look into another of his books. '_The Aethirium Wars'_ Was the title of one. It was about the Dwemer's search for divine-hood, or so Frontar thought. He read about a blue crystal, something that caused the Dwemer to eventually collapse. He didn't understand much of it.

It was not long before the food was ready. Frontar scooped himself up some food and sat down, continuing to read his book. He thought he may perhaps go see if Birna or the College had any books he may find interesting. He put on an overcoat he had found in the closet and walked outside. He promptly noticed a guard tieing a horse to a stable that was adjacent to his house. "Oh, your up. Jarl wanted me to tell you, Thackor's come to." "Thackor." Was all Frontar said as he started brisking towards the longhouse.

He steadily trudged in thru the door. Thackor was sitting upright, eating some soup full of vegetables. "Hey Frontar." Wall all he said. The healer gave him a sip of a potion. A healing potion. "What happened?" Thackor asked after swallowing the elixir." "The monster. It shocked you, but then the sea ghosts, they came and started fighting it and killed it!" Said Frontar.

"Then, they picked you up and made a portal, to Winterhold." Frontar continued, like the excited kid he was. Thackor just nodded, and turned to the mage as Frontar gave the deatail of the endeavor. "Have you heard of any thing like that?" He said. "Personaly, no." Said Collette. "But you may want to ask Urag. Big orc fella, ugly and rude." She said. "I'll go ask." Said Frontar.

All the guards nodded at Frontar as he passed. He walked outside to Winterhold. _Overcast, heavy snow, no wind. Does it ever clear up in Winterhold?_ He thought to himself. He walked up the walkway once again and the same old man stood there. "Need help my boy?" The old man asked. "Yes I need to talk to Urag, about some books." Said Frontar.

"Very well, follow me." The man said in the same calm and timid voice. Frontar walked with him, and a nord woman approached. "Tolfdir, who is this." She said in a very monatonous voice. "This is a thane of Winterhold, come to speak with Urag, is he in the Aracaneum?" The nord woman just stared, with a straight face, mood unreadable through her face.

"Yes, he is." She said finally. "Splendid." He said. Frontar and him walked off past a pool of the weird blue magicka and a large cement statue, into a large tower, far taller then all others. As they entered, there was a main metal gate, and two doors adjacent to an entrance way. Tolfdir and frontar took the door on the right. After two sets of stairs, they found themselves in the arcaneum.

A dark elf and a large orc, who Frontar assumed was Urag. The dark elf munched on bread and read from a small book. His gaze never left his book. The orc however, looked up. "Who's this Tolfidr." He barked out. "He seeks books, direct order from the Jarl actually."

"Well, regardless, he must understand this is my arcaneum. It may as well be my own plane of Oblivion. Disrespect me, I won't care. Disrespect the books, and I will have you torn apart by angry atronarchs." Frontar took a hard gaze, right into the aging orc's eyes and said, "Yes sir."

The orc snorted, then asked "What do you want anyways?"

"Books, about weird ghosts, near Yngol's barrow, and the history of the place." The orc reached down and picked up a few books, putting a few back and a few aside. "Here." He said, handing Frontar 4 books. Frontar looked at the titles.

_Night of Tears, Song of the Return, volume 1 and 2 and Yngol and the Sea Ghosts._

Frontar nodded and looked up. "Thanks he said." "50 septims." Muttered the Orc. "What?" Frontar asked.

"You heard me damn well boy. 50. Septims." He repeated. "I'll pay for this." Said Tolfdir, handing him a pre packed coin purse. The orc snorted again, he snorted a lot. "Whatever. Gold is gold." Frontar scooped the books into his bag and walked out, after thanking Tolfdir.

He thought of something on the way out. He could get some gold by traveling to Old Hrodan, and selling the inn in Markarth. He walked down the pathway, uniterupted by any mage and walked towards his fief. He walked inside the house quickly. He took 3 cabbage, 2 carrot, some venisor, a pot, some firewood, a change of clothes, and a couple of coin purses for the ride. He already had a couple strips of leather and poles for a tent and bed for his venture.

Frontar walked down the short steps of the house and grabbed his horse's riens. He led it towards the longhouse, thinking he would check on Thackor first. As he walked in, a guard greeted him promptly. "Here to check on Thackor?" He asked. "Yes."

"He's resting now. He solidified a bit, but could still use a few days to heal. Would you like me to give his a message from you?" The guard asked.

"Tell him, and the Jarl I'll be out for a few days. I'll be fine assure them." Frontar said.

"Your the boss." The guard replied.

Frontar nodded and walked off to his horse. He grabbed the reins and got up. He decided he could rest in Dawnstar the first day, and then go to Rorikstead, and finally Old Hrodan. Once there, he would take the title of the land, and any goods, then ride to Markarth, and sell the estate.

He kicked in his boots and got going towards Dawnstar. It would take him about 2 and a half to 3 hours.

* * *

It was a quiet ride to Dawnstar. Their was only an ice wolf that Frontar quickly dispatched of. And a few horkers. He easily avoided them. He walked into an inn named _The Windpeak._ He tied the horse to the post outside, and walked in clutching the furs. He traded the fur for a nights stay, and walked into his room. Frontar took a book out from his pack and locked it in his chest.

He walked out and put a tomato, some salt and meat in the pot and quickly began stirring. It was not long before it was ready, and he retired to his room to sleep, finishing _Yngol and The Sea Ghosts._

Sleep came, and so did a nightmare.

Quickly, Mercer grabbed him from his bed, slapping him when he resisted. He dragged him out to the ragged flagon, and their sat a man. _Herdar. _

"2000 gold." Said Mercer. "1500." Said Herdar. Mercer slapped him and said again. "2000." Herdar clutched his face and nodded. "2000." He grabbed the boy and brought him out. "You are mine now." Said Herdar.

The words still echoed in his ears to this day. He awoke later. He had slept quite a bit longer. He walked outside after grabbing his things, stretching and yawning, looking down at the bay. Dawnstar was a simply made city. A tower, run by priests or something, overlooked the large bay. A huge bay came into the city with a large trading post in the center. Around the bay their were many building. Shops and houses provided the setting of the foot of the slopes, with a mine on either side of the bay.

Their was a small bush of snowberries by the trading post, and miners from the two mines were on either side of the small park. "This is our town." Shouted a young Nord man to a large orc, each leading their respective mines. After a few insults and shoves, a whole fight had broken out. Frontar leaned on his sword, looking at the duo slugging it out, as the guards sat ambly by. After a while the guards merely seperated them. Frontar sighed at the quick end and got off on his way.

* * *

It was a long and quiet ride to Rorikstead, easy enough. No animals nor bandits attempted to attack Frontar. He passed by a giant's camp, but it merely waved it's gigantous club at him, so he rode off.

Rorikstead was barely even a city. It was owned by some fighter in the great war who purchased the land while he was currently fighting in Cyrodiil. All the city composed of was a small poorly put together shack, a small inn, and some poorly growing crops, despite it being the peak of growing season. A few workers lived in the city, if you would even call it thus.

Frontar quickly saw there was no place to tie his horse formally, after a quick gaze around, so he tied it to a post of a fence instead. He walked into the inn and looked around at the patrons. There was a man who had many calluses and cuts among his scarred face. He wore bloody and dirty clothes, and was drinking some mead, along with an equally exhausted man wearing robes. They merely waved at Frontar, not speaking.

Frontar wove his hand and muttered aye as he went up to the inn keeper. He tossed a coin purse at the keeper, not caring if it was off by a septim or two. The keeper pointed to a room and Frontar layed his head down and slept, exhausted from his journey.

Frontar awoke a couple of hours later. He was starving as he had barely had anything to eat the previous day, and quickly pulled out an apple from his sack. He realised he was a bit short on food, and bought one of the farmers scarce cabbages. He could make the trip to Old Hrodan in an hour, so he got off on his way.

After a quick ride down the hill to Old Hrodan, he found the inn. It was seldom visited, so it was not to his suprise that nobody had entered. Herdar's body still lay there untouched, other then the werewolf. Frontar looked at his previous "owner" with disdain. He couldn't help but wonder where the man had gone after his death. Oblivion?

That reminded him. Azura's star! He had forgotten all about it. Hopefully Azura would forgive him. He scoured around a while, finding a few septims here and there, and finally found the deed, in a locked treasure chest. There beside the chest, sat a wonderfully magnificent hovering gem, radiating a pink aura. Frontar was hipnotised by it's intriguing and shocking nature. He could help but swipe it.

As Frontar turned around, he couldn't help but glance at a small bed-side table. Upon it sat a small sealed letter. Frontar peeled back a bow and read it.

_Agent Herdar_

_We have seen what you have been acomplishing as of late. Your funding has been most generous and on behalf of the silver hand, we thank you. But be warned, a group of werewolf bandits has been spoteed nearby, so be advised. _

_Anyways best of luck_

_Sincerely, Erik._

Frontar gasped. _He knew_! Herdar knew about the werewolves. But who was Erik? And what did he want. As Frontar turned around, he heard knocking on the door. He hoped it was not a customer, how would he explain the dead body? Frontar walked closer to the door and the knocking became more constant. "Herdar!" A voice yelled.

As Frontar approached the door, it suddenly burst off it's hinges, knocking Frontar back. A tall man in steel armor looked down at him, pointing a uniquely bright sword at him. "Who, are you?" The man asked.

Frontar gazed up at the large burly man. He had a strong posture, and his expression showed no fear. "I'm Herdar's servant. He was killed, by a werewolf!" Frontar found himself shouting the last part.

"Hmm." The large man said as he peered at Herdar's body. THe man was flanked by two other large Nords wearing iron armor, an Imperial woman wearing hide armor, and a Orc male wearing topless fur armor. They all sported a variety of the same uniquely forged metals. They were the same colour as steel or iron, but a unique shade.

"When did this happen." Asked the large leader. "A couple of days ago maybe a week." Frontar began. "I was hurt too, but a priest of Azura found me. I was sent to Winterhold on a quest, and then came back to collect some stuff, then you showed up." The man just nodded at the boy. He looked as if he was sizing up Frontar. He stroked his knotted beard.

"Do you know who we are boy?" He asked.

"No." Frontar said.

"We are the silver hand, and we hunt werewolves."

Frontar looked at him with aw.

"Your, errr, owner, he was a big supporter of us. He sent us lots of money, and those werewolves knew so they killed him, and tried of you. Now, I see you have a strong body, you survived the werewolf attack, you got to Winterhold, and got armor and a weapon. In our line of work, able bodied people are in great demand. And so we invite you to join us."

Frontar just looked at him. Dumbfounded.

"Yes." He said. Nothing else.

"The man nodded.

Frontar regained his train of thought. "Where is your headquarters."

"Southwest of Dawnstar, hall of the vigilant. You can't miss us." The man said.

"Ok. I'll come in a few days. I have business to do."

The man nodded. Frontar packed up his goods as the man left and took the reigns for the way to Dawnstar.

* * *

Markarth seemed, uneasy. The people looked both ways, and the only reason the guard let him in was because of his age and reason, but not without hassle. After this Frontar sold the goods to an unwilling merchant. Everybody was jumpy. The guards nearly killed him with arrows after him opening the door made a loud sound.

Suddenly, an enormous sound thundered throughout the city of rock and brass. People screamed and ran. Guards ran down the street, disrespeecting the men and women in the street, trampling them over. They seemed to be struggling. Healers set up all they could. A thundering sound came as the main gate smashed opened knocking guards back.

Frontar grabbed his sheild and sword and ran forward to help. The guards were thining and struggling. The aggresors had weird natural made armor and weapons, and attacked with barrages of magic and weapons. They teamed with grotesque women-bird hybrids who had feathers sticking out of their unaturaly wrinkly and tight skin that clung to their brittle bodies that looked like they would shatter at the touch of an arrow. Frontar charged. Big mistake.

The being took one blow and hissed. Frontar swung again but she side stepped him and healed herself with magic while another one of her bretheren in arms kicked Frontar down, before he was impaled by a guard.

A barrage of arrows struck the frontlines of the aggresors as hords of horse riding men rode away from the fight in different directions. Some were brought down by sword, others arrows and magic. One escaped, riding hard towards what Frontar believed was Whiterun.

As Frontar got up, a magic spell hit him, paralyzing him instantly. The men retreated, leaving him in behind. They were all hit from behind by arrows or magic, falling to their deaths. Frontar tried to turn his neck, but the muscles refused to act. A hagraven looked at him, intertwining her fingers.

"Me and my sisters shall have some fun. Boys, take him away." Two men picked him up as the rest moved up to join the battle in Markarth. One had a gaping wound in his chest, that looked like it had a Briar heart in his chest. Whatever it was, it didn't seem fazed. It walked up to vile woman.

"Mother, the battle goes well, the reach belongs to the Reachmen! We have restored what is ours!"

Mother! How could that be somebodies mother. A million thoughts ran through Frontar's head.

* * *

Herik rode as fast as he could. The reachmen had overtaken the Reach. He must go on his duty, get help from the other holds. First he would stop in Whiterun, then to his planned course of Windhelm. Somebody must have help.


End file.
